There are stories of pieces of music just coming to the composer or songwriter as if it’s an immediate download. There is a sense of not even thinking, not exerting with effort, but rather of being the receiver of the music. As a composer myself, I’ve had that experience a few times. It’s almost an out-of-body experience; the music is coming from somewhere, but it doesn’t feel like it’s “yours” in the sense that you’re willing it to happen. If you’re lucky and in a place where you can write it down or otherwise commit it to memory, then you’ve got something special.

Carole King described something similar happening to her when the lyrics to the song “You’ve Got a Friend” emerged. She said, in a 1972 interview with Lou Adler (the producer who owned Ode Records, the label that issued “Tapestry”), as follows:

When I write my own lyrics, I’m conscious of trying to polish it off but all the inspiration is really inspiration, really comes from somewhere else.

 

[“You’ve Got A Friend”] was as close to pure inspiration as I’ve ever experienced. The song wrote itself. It was written by something outside of myself, through me.

The environment in which she wrote this song and the whole “Tapestry” album was a warm, intimate, supportive environment in Los Angeles. King had moved to Southern California after leaving her marriage to Gerry Goffin. She formed a jazz trio that included her second husband and guitarist Danny Kortchmar, who was a regular in James Taylor’s band. She and Taylor were in the same performing and studio circles. In fact, Taylor’s album “Sweet Baby James” was recorded virtually at the same time as “Tapestry.”

King said of those times working near and with James Taylor: “His album ‘Sweet Baby James’ was recorded the month before ‘Tapestry’ was recorded I think. Or even possibly simultaneously. Parts of it were simultaneous. And it was like ‘Sweet Baby James’ flowed over to ‘Tapestry’ and it was like one continuous album in my head. We were all just sitting around playing together and some of them were his songs and some of them were mine.”

To me, there are two things at work here. One is Carole King’s obvious preparedness; she had been writing songs for more than twenty years at this point and had a craft that was finely honed and deeply ingrained. But the other is the set of relationships surrounding her that made this surge of creativity possible.

There’s a camaraderie here that I want to emphasize—an easy, comfortable flow with like-minded people working on the same sort of creative endeavor in an environment of trust and mutual encouragement. Does this sound like anything you have experienced, my dear choristers? (“Yes,” I hear you reply, “of course it does!”) That’s exactly what choir is, at least when it’s at its best, which I hope for us is much of the time. You’re choosing to be here, with Hannah, Daniel, Amy, Paul, Linda, and me. There are people in your choir, your singing buddies, who encourage, cajole, sometimes joke or tease, listen when you’re having a hard day, and who hold you up musically and emotionally, in a way that matters. And you keep coming back, because the friendships and support of those in choir with you only deepen over time.

A nine-year-old boy whom I know well had an experience in choir like the one I’m describing here. He had a hard time making friends when his family moved to Chicago from back East. He was bullied at school and even in after-school activities with kids from other schools. He was kind of lost socially, and then a conductor from a nearby children’s choir came to his school and listened to all the kids in his classroom sing “My Country ‘Tis of Thee.” That singing led to a slightly expanded audition in the room next door. That week, the little boy got into a training ensemble for what was then the Chicago Children’s Choir, where he made lasting and close friendships for the first time since coming to this new town. The choir became the boy’s social center—and a place of safety and belonging. Older kids reached out and mentored him; he felt valued and supported and nurtured. He got inspired by being part of a wonderful musical experience, and he had a future with the group to look forward to.

I’m reading a book called “The Culture Code,” about companies and groups that have an extraordinary culture. These groups have a few things in common, reinforced often by subtle but unmistakable clues, many of which are nonverbal. One is the sense that everyone there is safe. Another is that they are all connected. A third is that they have a future together as a group. Does this ring any bells for you, whether in choir or in other places in your life? I’d be curious to learn about your experience in a group that works so well.

And, yes, that little boy was me.